Remembrance Day
by Mrs Danvers
Summary: On Remembrance Sunday, near the end of her life, Jane Moorsum remembers a great deal. I have no idea of her husband's name, but my dad was Harry, so Harry it is.


Remembrance Day

This, she decided, after seeing the announcement in the paper, would be the year that she went again. She hadn't been to the actual ceremony since the end of the war; in 1946 Freddie had bought her one of the first televisions so she'd gradually slipped into the habit of watching in the warm every year and not braving the weather and the crowds. This would be different. When she was actually standing there she wouldn't be able to switch channels if the memories became too much. At eighty I can do what I want, she reasoned. If I want to look at a bit of the past, who's to stop me? and if I'm upset, on that day of all days, it's to be expected. I have to go. I need to.

She studied the paper again. Among all the announcements for Remembrance Day services, one had caught her eye – at Downton war memorial the first wreath would be laid by the Earl of Grantham. Even the sight of the name started a fluttering in her stomach and made her heart beat a little faster. Even after all these years, she thought, he does that. _Grantham, Grantham_, _Grantham_, she muttered aloud. How long is it since I heard that name spoken, except by me, like this? Years. How long since I last thought of him? Days.

She sat back in her chair, paper folded on her lap, absently rubbing the ache in her left arm. Too much gardening in the cold wind. Who was the earl now, she wondered? Not Matthew, of course. He had been earl for such a short time after waiting so long, poor man. It wouldn't be his son – hadn't he resigned from the government in 1960? in rather mysterious circumstances, if she was recalling correctly, and he'd and gone to live in Italy, and set up home with a dancer, dying shortly afterwards. Those Crawleys, she thought with a small choke of laughter. Respectable and dutiful outside, but inside - !

She sat, tapping her finger on her chin, working out dates. No, I'm almost certain this earl is Matthew's grandson. Mary's too. Gracious, I wonder if she's still alive, her or any of her sisters. But then, why not? I am, and Mary and I are almost the same age. He'll be handsome, if he takes after them, and after Robert. He was handsome, although he never believed her when she told him so.

Decision made, she reached for the phone with a little grunt of effort. "Freddie? Can you or one of the girls do something for me this weekend?"

oooooOOOOOoooo

Lizzie helped her on with her coat, then she stood in front of the mirror, adjusted the medals, unpinned and pinned them again to make sure they were on straight. They shone like mirrors on their bright ribbons, her poppy tucked behind them. She'd always bought one. Every year since 1920. She felt odd; disembodied. It wasn't just the thought of Harry, it was who else she might see. She hadn't told her family that, of course; just that as she as getting on, she'd like the chance to pay her respects in person one last time.

"What are they, gran?"

She touched them one by one, knowing them off by heart, even though she hadn't worn them for years. "1914-1915 Star. British War medal. Allied Victory medal. Harry was in France from the beginning."

"I've never seen those. Did Grandad win them for bravery?" Lizzie asked, with awe in her voice. In spite of herself, Jane laughed. "No. Your grandfather was an ordinary soldier. He said he wasn't stupid enough to do something brave. These were given to me after the war."

Lizzie's voice was sombre. "Fighting and dying for your country's brave."

Jane was touched. "I'm glad you think so, love. So many people don't, these days."

oooooOOOOOoooo

The market square around the war memorial was already thronged when they arrived, and Jane looked at all the people with deep dismay. She pulled at Lizzie's sleeve. "Can we try and get to the front? I'll never see over all these heads!" Lizzie stood on tiptoe to assess the number of people, then took her grandmother's hand and marched them both into the crowd. Towed along in her wake, Jane heard, "Excuse me, can you let us through? Can we stand at the front? My grandmother" - "war widow" - "grandfather"- "Somme"- and seeing her medals the crowd parted good-humouredly enough, until Jane found herself at the front, grasping the barrier right in front of the memorial.

"Grandstand view, "said Lizzie, panting slightly. "Good one, Lizzie. Ask and it shall be given." Jane squeezed her granddaughter's arm gratefully, as the door of the Town Hall opened and the procession of vicar and choirboys emerged, followed by the Mayor and aldermen. She strained to see who was behind them, but all of a sudden her eyesight was blurred and her hands clammy. She pressed her hands together as the procession made its way to the memorial. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the pace of footsteps and the tolling bell, and when she opened them she had the strangest sensation that the ground was rocking beneath her feet, that she was the new maid at the Abbey and Robert was standing in front of her. Her earl, handsome and straight backed and tall in his uniform. He stood right in front of her and she could hardly breathe for the sensation that came over her as it had then.

She clung onto the metal barrier, feeling its cold through her gloves, and closed her eyes again, overwhelmed by the memories the sight of him brought back; opened them to see her granddaughter looking at her with concern.

"You all right?" Lizzie mouthed. Jane nodded; putting her hands in her coat pockets, she clenched her fists and prayed for control. It wasn't him, of course, it was Matthew's grandson, but to her it was as if forty years had rolled back and she had met Robert for the first time. Later she was to be deeply ashamed of herself – she didn't hear the prayers, she didn't hear the silence, she didn't hear the Last Post; she didn't even think of Harry. She didn't take her eyes off the earl as he laid his wreath, saluted, stood while the other wreaths were laid, while the prayers were said and the dead remembered. When he turned to leave the memorial, it was as if Robert was leaving her again, and she felt a lump in her throat. She stood forlornly, looking after him as the crowds started drifting away from the square.

Lizzie took her grandmother's arm and walked her into the pub that had just opened.

"You're going to have a drink while I phone dad to pick us up. You're white as a sheet, gran."

Jane sat with her hands in her lap, watching Lizzie at the bar, flicking her curtains of blonde hair as she waited to be served. The winds of change, how they pick us up and blow us about. At her age I was a mother of a young son and I wouldn't have dreamt of being _near_ a pub, let alone march up to the bar, ask for brandy and pay for it. I wore corsets, a dark dress and thick black stockings, with my hair pinned up in a bun. She wears a skirt so short it's barely there, her hair loose and goes out with a different young man every week. Unbidden she thought _I wonder what Robert would say, _and bent her head so no-one could see the sudden tears.

She took a sip of the brandy as Lizzie sat down opposite her.

"I've phoned dad, he's on his way," She drank some of her Coke.

"I can't believe you bought me brandy at this hour, " Jane muttered "or that I let you. Is there any in that?" she gestured at the glass Lizzie held.

"Nope. Coke only." She grinned. "If it were this evening, there would be." Jane tutted, and Lizzie flicked her hair again. "Don't give me that, gran. We all know you grew up with corsets and high buttoned shoes, but don't kid me you're an old fogey." Lizzie swirled her drink. "What upset you, anyway? Thinking of Grandad?"

Jane hesitated. She had told her family a great deal about her past – her younger grandson Robert (dear Freddie, he never forgot his debts) in particular was interested in the family history, however humble – but she hadn't told them everything, not by a long way. Nor would she. She was still stunned by the wave of feeling that had swept over her today.

"Of Grandad, yes, and what it was like after he was killed. It's a emotional sort of day. You remember all sorts of things." she said finally.

"Good memories or bad?" asked Lizzie idly.

"Very good ones, mostly. I hope at my age you have as many to keep you warm."

Lizzie stood up. "There's dad." As she steered her grandmother towards the door, she said, "That's the main thing, isn't it. That they're good."

oooooOOOOOoooo

"Ask and it shall be given."

Lizzie's words echoed in her head as she sat looking out at the garden. Strange that Lizzie should use just those words, when they were the ones her grandmother had lived by for years. Had she ever quoted them at the children? She couldn't remember.

At first all she had wanted was Harry back, and the life the three of them had lived before the war; Harry and Freddie coming home to her every night, back to her love and capable care; but barring miracles, Harry was dead, so she'd had to go out to work. She'd gone to the Abbey, and then from that first day all she had wanted was Robert. To make him laugh, to smooth the lines from his forehead and have him want to kiss her and hold her. Night after night she'd wept and scolded herself for the futility of her dreams, but it had happened; for a too-brief while he'd been her world and she his. Leaving him hadn't been part of the plan, and she'd expected life to be hard and lonely, but his stroke of the pen on a piece of paper had changed that. The earl's money for Freddie, money she didn't have to work for, meant that she could take stock, look around her, decide what she wanted in her life, and as importantly, what she didn't.

What she didn't want was being a housemaid, the crushing physical effort and the dread of illness or age that meant she wasn't up to it any more. Downton had paid well, and she'd a bit saved, plus the earl's money and the army pension, so she'd taken a deep breath and a shop job, studying typing and shorthand in the evening. It was still hard work, but at least it was sitting down, even if pounding those stiff keys meant her wrists and shoulders ached for weeks.

Ask and it shall be given; ask long and hard enough and it will come – just not always in the way you expect. Typing and shorthand was in demand and commanded a good wage, which meant she stayed in Ripon, didn't have to go miles away to a job where she came home on her one day off a fortnight. If he'd come that day, and I wasn't there, would what happened have happened?

Jane opened the box that held his letters and the newspaper clippings she had collected over the years. I ought to destroy them, she thought. I can no more do that than I can cut off my right arm. Instead she picked up a piece of paper from her desk, wrote _To be destroyed after my death. Jane Moorsum_ and placed it on top of the letters. Not _destroyed unread_; that was to ensure someone would do just that. Robert, for instance, with his passion for the past and the knowledge that he was named after a rich benefactor. She wouldn't trust that young man as far as she could throw him not to go rummaging around to find if there was more about that than she'd told them.

She picked up the last letter she had received. No need to read it, really; she knew it off by heart, just like she knew the others.

_Downton Abbey, March 1935_

_Dear Mrs Moorsum, by now you will have heard the sad news of the death of the sixth earl of Grantham. You may be surprised that I am writing to you, but I felt I could not give this task to anyone else._

_The earl's death was very sudden, and painless, which must come as a great relief to everyone who loved him. When his possessions were returned to me by the undertaker, among them was a letter from you, and on looking through his desk I found the rest of your correspondence (which I hasten to reassure you that I did not read). However, the fact that they were in his desk drawer, and their condition, so tattered that they had clearly been read and re-read a great many times, led me to conclude that they were very precious to him. I have therefore arranged for them to be buried with Robert rather than returned to you. I hope that this will give you some comfort in the loss of someone who must have been a very dear friend._

_If at any time you visit Downton Abbey, please let me know. I would be delighted to meet you and talk over old times. I remember you from 1918-19. Yours very sincerely, Matthew Grantham. _

Dear Matthew. Robert had loved him so much, said to her often that he knew he would leave the Abbey in good hands. She had gone, just once. Just to see where he was and leave her love. Then she had gone to America with Freddie and his family, and the busy years after that had crowded in on her. Her new life, so different from anything she had imagined for herself. She wrote to Daisy, _After the war I__ thought I'd end up scrubbing floors and changing beds forever, instead I'm in a rich American suburb looking after Freddie's children while he and Laura work. I've even learned to drive!_ The war, and their return to England, a much poorer, shabbier place than she remembered after the prosperity of Washington. None of it had shaken him loose from heart and memory. Like a pearl within an oyster, she had turned the love and pain into precious memory.

She was glad she had gone today, even though the earl's resemblance to Robert had nearly overthrown her. She touched the photo of him, the one she had asked for. He stood there in his uniform, the one he said he didn't deserve to wear, staring out at her with his steady gaze. _To my darling Jane. With my love, Robert_. She looked at him a while – as if every feature wasn't burned into her memory already. Tenderly she smoothed the letters, then slipped them carefully back into the box. Hesitantly she took out the diary, wondering if, today of all days, she should leave well alone and not read. It would only upset her...She looked at Harry's photo. I'm sorry, love, I forgot all about you today. It's been so many years, and so much has happened since I saw you last. Don't be cross with your lass. Wherever you are, if you're anywhere, you know it all anyway. I don't love you any less because of what happened after. You know that, don't you?

1_920_

_That day he called, it was half day closing, and I was in the kitchen when I heard a knock at the front door. Freddie went to open it, and I heard voices, then the door closing. A canvasser, or a salesman. I had my back to the door and called to ask who it was – when he didn't answer I turned round to ask him again, only to be brought up short by the sight of the earl standing in the doorway, hat in hand, Freddie behind him._

_I've read about people being turned to stone, and never believed it till that day. We stared at each other, and I could see doubt in his eyes. For both our sakes, I pulled myself together. _

"_My lord, what a pleasant surprise! Do come in. Let me take your coat-" he took it off, but instead of handing it to me as he would to a maid, he laid it on a chair._

"_If you would like to sit in the front parlour, my lord, I'll bring you some tea –" I was chattering away out of sheer nerves, but he said "I'd rather sit here with you, if you don't mind, Jane." He hadn't taken his eyes off me._

"_Of course I don't mind, my lord. Freddie, come and be introduced. This is Lord Grantham."_

_Freddie shook hands, and my love - my lord, I mean – said how glad he was that they were meeting at last, and that he had heard very good reports of Freddie's schoolwork. I was so proud of my son – he stood up straight and answered his lordship's questions, looking at the earl with a direct gaze. I could see his lordship was impressed. When Freddie had gone, and I had made tea, we sat for a long time saying nothing. He didn't look at me, he looked at the table, and I wondered why he was here at all. Everything we'd had to say had been said before I left the Abbey, and I didn't dare hope that he'd come to say anything different. So I waited. At last he spoke, and I didn't at all expect what came._

"_Jane, do you remember what I asked you? That night, after I'd kissed you, and I crept up to your room to beg your forgiveness?"_

"_I remember, my lord. You knelt at my feet, and you held my hands, you said that you loved me and you asked-" I swallowed, praying that my voice wouldn't shake and I wouldn't cry. "You asked me if I would love you at a distance, be friends, and wait for you knowing that you may never be mine and we may never be together? And I said I would."_

_He started pacing the kitchen as he'd paced my room that night, like a trapped animal. "I had no right to ask you then. I have no right to ask you this now."_

"_There's no need to worry about what you have the right to do. You asked me to forgive you, and I did. I said that I loved you, I would always love you. That hasn't changed, what I said hasn't changed. You ask, and I give, freely."_

_He stopped pacing and took my hands in his. "My love, your words stun me. You look at me with those loving eyes, Jane, so full of understanding, you say what you say, and I can only wonder what I've done to deserve you. Will you wait? Stay near me, and be my friend, my refuge? I don't have anyone else but you I can turn to and trust."_

"_Jane - be my corner while I hide. Will you listen to why I need you so much? It's not pleasant. When you hear it you'll know why I run to you and no-one else,and why I will ask you to forgive me again for what I'm asking of you."_

_I think that was the saddest thing I've ever heard anyone say – that surrounded as he was with family, friends and servants, he needed me, but I nodded, said I would. He was so overwrought I'd have said anything to bring him a bit of peace. He dropped my hands, resumed his pacing, and told me the whole story of Mr Pamuk. I'd heard the rumours when I was below stairs; in a big house there are always rumours, especially when young men and young women get together, but when I'd asked Anna she had shrugged and said there was nothing to it._

_In 1912 Pamuk had died in Mary's bed, he told me, and she was rightly so terrified of scandal and ruin that she had asked Cora – the countess, her mother - and Anna to help move his body back to his room. They had been seen by Thomas, who had told O'Brien, and only for devilment and making trouble, that evil woman had egged Daisy, sweet silly child, to tell Lady Edith. Jealous of her sister as she was, Lady Edith had written the story to the Turkish Ambassador and made sure her sister knew. _

_If I thought it couldn't be worse than that, I was wrong. _

_Bates' wife had hold of the story, and had used it to blackmail him into coming back to her. Worse, she had sold it to Sir Richard Carlisle. He hadn't used it, but Robert swore that he had held it over Mary's head to make her marry him. _

_He stopped pacing, and took my hands again. "Can you believe, Jane, that I was nearly the only person in the house who didn't know? The only person in London? The shame – humiliation - my wife, my daughters,my butler, even my valet – everyone kept it from me for eight years. I wasn't even allowed to protect my own daughter from blackmail and ruin! Not to save my family's good name!"_

_He flung my hands away and resumed his pacing. Up and down, up and down. My kitchen was hardly big enough to hold his rage. He swallowed tears._

"_Then, a month or so ago, a damnable impertinent letter from Curzon, telling me that the new ambassador _

_had the letter and was threatening a diplomatic incident. I confronted Cora, accusing her of betrayal – she admitted it, and tried to turn it against me. Hadn't I betrayed her with you?" I jumped up in shock. No-one knew about us, surely?_

"_O'Brien saw you leaving my room that night, and she heard us saying goodbye.. Of course she told Cora when it would make the most trouble"_

"_Wh – what did you say?" I could hardly say the words._

_He shrugged, so tiredly. "I told her that a few kisses were hardly the same. We had a bitter quarrel, then I had to go to London to be scolded by Curzon as if I were an erring footman. Cora and I have barely spoken since." _

_He sat down again, and sagged wearily. I put my hand on his shoulder. "So you see, you're the only one not involved in this ghastly affair. The only one I can trust. That's why I'm here. I can hardly even bear the house, knowing what it's sheltered."_

_It was so hard to see his pain and not know what to do. Then he took some papers out of his pocket, and I recognised my letters to Mr Murray. He smiled, the first one I'd seen._

"_Murray gave them to me, said you write to tell him how Freddie is doing at school. I'd rather you wrote to me, though. Will you? Be there when I need you?"_

_I said that of course, I'd like nothing better, but I had to confess. "I wrote because I thought he might pass them on to you, that you might read them and think of me a bit. I'd much rather have sent them to you but it seemed – forward." I added, "Honestly, I did want you to know that he is doing well and your money isn't wasted."_

"_I can see it isn't" he agreed "The boy is doing very well. And I do think of you. More than a bit." I blushed, and he touched my cheek. "Oh Jane, " he sighed "If only Freddie weren't here…I want you so much."_

_I tried to keep my voice steady. "I know you do, and I want you too. One day, Robert. One day."_

_He dropped his hand. "I must go. I'll be expected. It's been such a relief to talk to you." As I helped him into his coat, he said "Jane. When you write send your letters to Miss Tomlinson, and she'll send mine to you. Write to me often. Tell me everything you are doing. Tell me everything. Where are you working now?"_

"_In a shop. But I'm learning typing, then it'll be an office job for me. Near Freddie." Near you. He smiled, and touched my cheek again. "My clever girl." I wasn't, really, but his praise was a glimpse of heaven._

_I smiled back, and he traced his finger over my lips and face. "That smile, and that dimple that comes when you smile . How much I have missed seeing them." He slid his hand to the back of my neck, and pulled me against him, his lips on mine._

_When he had gone, I sat and cried. For everything that had happened to him, for the man who was going back to a house that wasn't his home any more, filled with loved ones who had become enemies._

_S_he cried a little now, as well, recalling the sweetness of that day. Stupid woman, she thought, mopping her eyes, as if you haven't wept enough, you have to go and start yourself off again! I must be tired. Blowing her nose, and flexing the arm that had begun to ache again, she flicked to the end of the book.

_1960_

_We both knew that we longed to be lovers, and we pretended it would happen, but it never did, because we were careful never to be in a situation where we had the chance. We would write to each other and meet when we were able, hold hands, and kiss if we dared, but if we had, even once, gone further I think the world could have destroyed itself around us and we'd have been oblivious to anything but each other. As time went on, being lovers would have complicated and changed what we were – close friends. Lovers can be friends, for sure, but I firmly believe friends can't be lovers without altering matters between them, and not always for the better._

_He told me that he was deeply wounded by Cora's betrayal over Pamuk, and things would never be the same between them – but, all the same, weren't we betraying her? I think he had decided after that dust-up he was going to please himself and the hell with duty. If it was tit for tat that was for him to decide, not me. If they did recover, I don't know – he never mentioned her. All I knew was that I had more of the man I wanted than I ever thought possible, and I was happy. I only had a part of him, but some people live their whole lives without even that much. He was so kind to Freddie, too; helped him to university, helped his career – looked on him as a son. All Freddie did, he achieved with his own work, but sometimes that's not enough. A helping hand, a word in the right ear…_

_About when he died, I can't bear to think, and I won't; truly, I can't remember much of those months, except wanting to die too. It was worse than when Harry was killed, and that was like being torn apart. But, I crawled back to life, as we all must. America helped – I wasn't seeing the familiar landscapes without him every day, and there were new faces, new sensations. How I longed to tell Robert all about it – so I did, in long letters I wrote every day, when I was looking after my grandchildren. I burnt those pages. Pain and longing came off them like gas. _

_Well, that's our story. Forbidden and unrequited love between the earl and the housemaid; even more, and even better, a deep friendship. We shared everything that happened to us. Sometimes we didn't meet for months, and those letters to and fro were like an oasis in the desert. It was always a wonder to me that with his life, so full of events and people, he still wanted to be part of mine, but he did. Even now, something happens, and I think, I_ must tell Robert that_. When I told him that I was going to be a grandmother he burst out laughing, and said it was impossible, I was a girl still. I think he always saw me as the pink cheeked dark haired young woman I was when we met, not the middle aged grey haired one I became. How much I loved him, for that, and for so much else. How much I love him still._

_ooooOOOOOoooo_

She woke with a start, still holding the photo and the diary. The room was dark, and she must have slept on her arm, the pain was worse and now she had pins and needles as well. Stiffly she stood up, went to the window. Frowned. Was that someone in the garden? Those boys from across the way, probably. She'd open the back door, shout at them to go away, that usually did the trick. Then she'd make a cup of tea and a hot water bottle to hold against this arm. Tomorrow she'd phone Freddie and ask him to speak to their parents.

She didn't bother to switch the kitchen light on, and when she opened the door she was surprised to see a river of thick, shining mist. Opening the door she stepped out, peering through the fog. She was unable to see the boys, but a tall figure – no, a presence - stood in front of her, bending towards her, holding out his hand, and she took it without hesitation or fear, as she had before. _Take a step into the river_, his voice said in her mind, _just one step then two then three it's very easy don't believe all the stories about it hurting or being difficult_ _we're here and we'll help you we won't let you go_ _we won't ever let you go _and she was gliding through the mist, above the mist, above the garden, taking giant steps upwards and upwards, her hand held fast in his and his dear smile gleaming at her in the moonlight. In front of them she saw Harry standing, his head on one side as she remembered. _Come on, lass, we've been waiting ages for you_! He took her other hand and they soared up above the dark into the sunlit blue.


End file.
